The Box
by MireiLovett1846
Summary: Mrs. Lovett is out Christmas shopping and finds the perfect gift for the Judge... My first try at Turplovett! One-shot.


**Hey, everyone! Here I am with my very first Turplovett story! Yes, that's Turpin/Nellie. I wrote a Sweenett Christmas tale last year that, as you know, I didn't actually publish until this March, but here's a Christmas story right on time. The amazing Unamuerte, mostly due to her story **_**Beyond Redemption**_**, was the inspiration behind this story. So thank you, Una! =]**

**Without any further ado: THE BOX.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own **_**Sweeney Todd**_**. I wish I could have him for Christmas. **

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The Box

Nellie Lovett put on her black woolen shawl and picked up her market basket. She had quite a bit of shopping to do, seeing as the holidays were drawing near. Around December, an interesting bazaar always opened in the heart of St. Dunstan's Square, and she was eager to investigate the goods for sale.

"Where are you off to, Mum?" Toby asked, watching Mrs. Lovett sweep out of her room and into the main room of the pie shop. She smiled at Toby, tousling his scruffy brown hair. "I'm goin' to the market, love, to pick up some things. Anything we need?" Toby went to the cabinets, quickly looking through them. He shook his head no.

"Have a good shopping trip, Mum." he said. Mrs. Lovett gently kissed the boy's forehead. "I will, love."

She set off down Fleet Street, pulling her shawl around her. She looked around, admiring the festive look the city was wearing these days. Strung between lampposts were long fringes of pine boughs, nailed to doors were wreaths of holly. The deacon of the church across the way was setting up a small hand-painted crèche outside in a window-box. A quartet of carolers strolled by, tin cups and weathered hymnals in hand, singing "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen". Mrs. Lovett smiled. She loved this time of year.

If only she could get Mr. Todd to like it as well.

No matter brooding over Mr. T. She was almost at Saint Dunstan's.

And what a frenzy of excitement greeted her!

All around Mrs. Lovett were sights and senses of the season; it was hard to decide where to look first.

Christmas geese and turkeys were strung up in a poulterer's window, red ribbons tied—ironically enough—at their neck stumps. The savory smell of mince pies and plum puddings mixed with that of pine for a heady scent like no other. Left and right came the cries of vendors, selling everything imaginable.

"Charms, ladies n' gen'lemen! Charms from the royal tombs of the pharaohs in Egypt! Guaranteed to bring good luck—"

"Hand-knit scarves! Made with love by the Sisters of—"

"Blades! Scissors! Knives to grind!"

"Red roses for that special someone in your life, sweet red roses—"

Mrs. Lovett simply walked past, knowing she was looking for a tiny, silk-swathed handcart near the back of the next, not far from where Pirelli's caravan had been, in fact. This was owned by a former sea captain who had traveled the world and brought back all sorts of exotic items from Africa and the Orient.

"G'day, mum. What brings you back to me shop?" he asked upon seeing her approach. Mrs. Lovett smiled, looking down at the wares: fancy lacquered sticks that were apparently used for eating, ivory elephants, wooden statues of idols, a few silk robes, necklaces made of shells… "I'm doin' a bit of shoppin'. What do you have that you'd give a small boy, about twelve?" she asked, thinking of Toby.

He smiled, picking up a small woven basket. "I 'ave just the thing!" He presented the basket, which was full of small wooden tiles with strange little writing characters carved on them, all stained in various shades of brown. Mrs. Lovett picked up a light-stained tile and turned it over in her hands. She noticed slits carved along the sides, so she slid her thumb across the top. It proved to be a little box with the word "LOVE" inscribed on the inside.

"My goodness! These are lovely! How did you know what the writing on top meant?" Mrs. Lovett said. The captain smiled. "I 'ad an interpreter tell me. Now I have a bit o' paper with the Chinese character and the English translation on it when I make more." he explained. Mrs. Lovett smiled and put the box on the edge of the cart, picking up another one and opening it.

On the inside of this one was "FORGIVENESS".

The wheels in Mrs. Lovett's head began to turn. Perhaps she could buy this for Mr. T., to stop him from harping on about that bloody ol' Judge—

The Judge!

She could give it to the Judge!

"Mum, is everythin' all right? You look might peculiar…" the captain observed. Mrs. Lovett looked up at him, her smile scintillating with excitement. "How much for them boxes, sir? I'll take these two."

"Tuppence each, but—

Mrs. Lovett passed him half a crown. "Keep the change, sir! You've really made me day!" With a happy wink, she swept off, boxes in hand. The captain shook his head, smiling.

"Must be the season…"

Mrs. Lovett hurried down the street to Kearney's Lane, where she knew the Judge's mansion to be. She looked over the imposing gray townhouse, sighed, and impetuously hurried up the steps, where she began knocking at the dark wooden doors.

_________________

Lizzie Webster, a young scullery maid, was hard at work cleaning up the Judge's mansion for the approaching holidays. She was crossing the foyer to go dust the library when she heard someone banging at the front door.

For a moment, she wondered if it was against her better judgment to open the door. Judge Turpin always told the butler to never open the door without checking who it was first, but was she the butler? No.

So Lizzie opened the door in response to the frantic pounding. "Yes?"

An exceptionally pale woman bundled in black skirts and a shawl was on the step. She was quite pretty, with frizzy auburn hair in a messy pile on her head, large brown eyes, and a cocky smirk. Lizzie recognized her as Nellie Lovett, proprietor of Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium, which, she knew, had recently received a sudden spike in business.

"'Ello, miss. Is the Judge at 'ome?" Nellie asked. Lizzie shook her head.

""E was at court today. 'E should be walkin' 'ome soon, passin' Fleet Street, in fact." the girl said. Nellie lifted an eyebrow. "All right. Thank you. Happy Christmas."

Lizzie shut the door and peeked out the front window to see what Mrs. Lovett would do. To Lizzie's surprise, she saw her hiking up her voluminous black skirts and darting down the street!

__________________

Mrs. Lovett stopped once she got to the corner of Fleet and St. Dunstan's. Thank God it was dusk; the crowds had been mercifully thin. Her corset had made it nearly impossible to breathe, however, so she slouched against a lamppost, heavily panting and ignoring befuddled stares. Then, just as a tall man passed, Mrs. Lovett looked up, thinking it might be him. She couldn't afford to miss the Judge. Not tonight. _For a moment there_, she realized with a small start,_ I sounded like Mr. T, looking' out for the bloody Judge like that! _

_________________

Judge Turpin was beginning his walk home from court. Today had been modestly successful in terms of sentences and hangings. For the most charitable time of year, there seemed to be an increase in crimes. He shook his head, no longer wishing to concern himself with the mongrels and thieves of London, instead retreating to his mansion.

While on Fleet Street, however, he took a brief detour.

On a street corner at dusk as the lamplighters were coming about and snow was beginning to fall, he saw Nellie Lovett, standing by a lamppost as though waiting for someone. When she laid eyes on him, her face lit up like the candles in nearby windows.

"Your Worship!" she called out, beckoning to him with a smile. The Judge lifted an eyebrow and headed over to where she stood.

"Good evening, Mrs. Lovett." he said with a slight bow. Nellie smiled invitingly with a low, sweeping curtsy. "Good evenin', Your Worship.

"Well, seein' as it's the season for givin' and goodwill towards _all_ men, I picked you up a little somethin' at St. Dunstan's Bazaar." Nellie said. Turpin lifted his gaze from her sensuously shaped lips and met her twinkling eyes.

"Madam, it would hardly be proper for me to accept it. I have nothing in return." he said sternly. A corner of Nellie's mouth twitched up in amusement. She rested a small hand on his chest, walking her fingers up the wool lapel of his coat and standing closer to him.

"Nah, it's all right. All I ask in return is your acceptance."

Nellie took something out of her basket and holding it out. Turpin took it and examined the small item. It was a wooden tile about four centimeters square with some Oriental character carved into it. The Judge looked into Nellie's expectantly smiling face.

"What is this, madam?" he asked. Nellie laughed lightly. "Just slide the top off. There's somethin' inside."

Judge Turpin pushed the pad of his thumb across the top, and the lid neatly slid off. With one glance, he read the word inside the box.

_FORGIVENESS_.

"Mrs. Lovett…?"

"Happy Christmas, Your Worship." A taunting kiss on the cheek and she was turning away, her skirts twirling around her ankles. The Judge followed her, grabbing her wrist. "Mrs. Lovett—˝

She turned around, facing him. Breathlessly, Nellie asked, "Yes?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Lovett."

"You're welcome, Your Worship."

Nellie offered her lace-gloved hand for a kiss. Turpin placed a quick kiss on the back of her hand. Nellie smiled, and off she went, disappearing into the crowds.

Judge Turpin smiled to himself, stowed the box in his waistcoat pocket and headed home, almost feeling the infectious joy of the season.

* * *

"Mum, you look so happy! What did you get at the market—your basket looks empty!"

Mrs. Lovett, sitting at a booth in her shop, smiled at Toby.

"Don' worry, love. We can do some serious grocery-shoppin' tomorrow, when I have you to help me. But tonight, I took care of a little somethin' that needed seein' to."

She glanced up at the dusty boards of the ceiling, knowing all too well that her Mr. T paced ceaselessly across them, longing for his beloved Lucy and his dear Johanna.

But for now, she would think not of him, but to the man she had offered her forgiveness to.

*******

**I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday. **


End file.
